We must now return to Mooshanne, where Colonel Brandon received Wingenund very kindly; and within half an hour of the arrival of the party, they were all seated at his hospitable board, whereon smoked venison steaks, various kinds of fowls, a substantial ham, cakes of rice, and Indian maize. On the side–table were cream, wild honey, cheese, and preserved fruits, all these delicacies being admirably served under the superintendence of Aunt Mary, who was delighted with Wingenund, praised the extreme beauty of his eyes and features, telling the Colonel, in a whisper, that if she had been thirty–five years younger, she should have been afraid of losing her heart! The youth was indeed the hero of the day: all were grateful to him for his gallant preservation of Reginald’s life, and all strove with equal anxiety to make him forget that he was among strangers. Nor was the task difficult; for though he had only the use of one hand, it was surprising to see the tact and self–possession with which he conducted himself, the temperate quietness with which he ate and drank, and the ease with which he handled some of the implements at table, which he probably saw for the first time. Baptiste was a privileged person in the Colonel’s house, and was allowed to dine as he pleased, either with its master, or with Perrot and the other servants. On this occasion, he was present in the dining–room, and seemed to take a pleasure in drawing out the young Delaware, and in making him talk on subjects which he knew would be interesting to the rest of the party. Wingenund was quiet and reserved in his replies, except when a question was put to him by Lucy, to whom he gave his answers with the greatest _naïveté_, telling her more than once, that she reminded him of his sister Prairie–bird, but that the latter was taller, and had darker hair. Whilst addressing her, he kept his large speaking eyes so riveted upon Lucy’s countenance, that she cast her own to the ground, almost blushing at the boy’s earnest and admiring gaze. To relieve herself from embarrassment, she again inquired about this mysterious sister, saying, “Tell me, Wingenund, has she taught you to read, as well as to speak our tongue?” “No,” said the youth; “Prairie–bird talks with the Great Spirit, and with paper books, and so does the Black Father; but Wingenund cannot understand them,—he is only a poor Indian.” Here Reginald, whose curiosity was much excited, inquired, “Does the Prairie–bird look kindly on the young chiefs of the tribe?—Will she be the wife of a chief?” There was something both of surprise and scorn in Wingenund’s countenance, as he replied, “Prairie–bird is kind to all—the young chiefs find wives among the daughters of the Delawares;—but the antelope mates not with the moose, though they feed on the same Prairie. The Great Spirit knows where the Prairie–bird was born! but her race is unknown to the wise men among the Tortoises.”